


Uncertain Times

by watermelonsuit



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Bittersweet, Episode: s07e25 What You Leave Behind, Goodbyes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8714323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watermelonsuit/pseuds/watermelonsuit
Summary: I’m sure we’ll see each other again.
  
  I’d like to think so.

Last words and parting glances.





	

The last napkin in the replimat tray, the last curious interpretation of rokassa juice that Deep Space Nine offers. Garak stands up in unison with his lunch companion and looks Julian Bashir in the eye, less brave than he means to be.  
  
I’ll miss you,” Bashir says, strained. Garak's nod is too quick and obvious response; Garak's heart wells terribly in his chest. _Doctor Bashir's contagious sentiment._  
  
"I had hoped so." Bashir steps forward to hug Garak, and somehow this is what Garak wants. He rests his chin in the hollow of Bashir's collarbone. It's awkward and in a Cardassian context, rather outrageous, and it makes him feel small, pressed against this slight man, losing the superiority that calculated distance gives him. And Julian Bashir has only a vague idea. _Elim, what are you doing?_ And in the arms of _— oh curses, that too?_ Julian Bashir's arms encircling him? Too obvious. Garak pulls away and begins to reassemble.  
  
"I'm sorry, I forgot myself for a moment," he says, straightening his cuffs. Bashir shakes his head.  
  
"I don't know the nuances of Cardassian... etiquette. I don't know what you were doing. Or for that matter, what I did."  
  
"Your incomplete knowledge of social cues, even in human instances, are charming, Doctor.”  
  
“I know.” An all-encompassing statement, warm, kind. It's not enough. Garak realizes he's been staring at Bashir for too long, and yet he can't quite bring him into focus. Julian Bashir: he was only supposed to smile and look thoughtful in conversation and debate: be eager and energetic about politics, poetry, sex, it didn't matter much which. When that became unbearable, Garak could argue, but at some point, at some time it had to stop, it _must_ stop —  
  
"You don't want to go,” Bashir blurts out.  
  
“My dear—"  
  
"A theory of mine," Bashir offers, trying to be winsome.  
  
"I'm leaving in an hour," Garak protests. _Suppose you are_ , Bashir's look says. _But..._ Garak shakes his head. ”I don't want to talk about theories."  
  
—  
  
Garak leaves no marks, says nothing for Bashir to remember, as it should be. A human scent of exertion in a corner of the Promenade, that's all. Garak can't take credit for that, but he can remember it for a long time. The cold surrounding them is palpable, and Bashir presses Garak to the wall. Garak misses him already.  
  
_Really_ , Garak’s thoughts should have shut down altogether by now. Refocusing. Eyes open, but in a polite sort of way. Polite in this sort of situation? _A bit boring._  
  
"Lights?" he asks.  
  
"Off?" Bashir asks, breathless. "Yes. Whatever you want." He smiles another of his impossible smiles. _Again? Must he?_ "Computer, lights."  
  
The empty storefront goes dark. The room is a second, remembered flash of that smile; it's Bashir's racing pulse, hot and close to his skin, Garak's running against it, flooding their bodies. It's Garak's hands in Bashir’s hair. It’s Garak kissing him for the last time, and it’s a room with two people and only so many minutes left and it is dark.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
"I'm fine.”  
  
"You don’t want...”  
  
Garak lifts his chin, turning his head to rest against Bashir’s cheek. "I'm perfectly fine, Doctor." Fortuitous that he'd shut off the lights. _For once a rational decision_.  
  
"Don't call me that. We only had an hour, Garak."  
  
Garak would never explicitly invite anyone to call him Elim, but now would be a good time. Instead: "Cardassian intimacy takes many forms. What you'd consider mere foreplay carries, for us, a great deal of meaning. It's a deep bond, not fleeting excitement. Do I make myself understood, Doctor?"  
  
"You're thinking ahead," Bashir says, and Garak smiles. Has he ever been hopeful? Naive, yes; expectant, certainly; optimistic, never.  
  
"I look forward to it." _It isn't optimism if there's doubt, is it?_  
  
"So do I." Bashir rolls over. "Computer, how long until the shuttle to the capital departs?"  
  
" _Shuttle departs at 1300. It is now 1254. Six minutes remain._ "  
  
Panic. "Should I go?"  
  
"Now, Elim."  
  
"Julian."  
  
"Would you allow me to accompany you to your shuttle?”  
  
They walk down the corridor in silence, Garak consciously and slowly, listening to Bashir’s footfalls and the familiar little noises of the Promenade.  Bashir's arms are at his side, immobile, rather military. _Starfleet is, after all_. Garak keeps his hands behind his back. Julian falls out of step as Dax and Kira approach; Ezri steps forward first.  
   
"We'll miss you, Garak."  
  
Kira pauses. ”The station won't be the same without you," she says, not without warmth.  
  
"Cardassia is lucky to have you," Julian says.  
  
"Oh, I'm the lucky one." Garak swallows, looking at the Trill and Bajoran at Julian's side, then at him. If he could keep looking at him like this, if only. "Dr. Bashir, everyone here owes a debt to you in our lives aboard this station. I count myself fortunate to be among them." He took another step back and bowed slightly. "I can only hope that our farewell can repay a little of mine."  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Garak." Bashir looks... moved? Pained? _How can you not read him? Or do you not want to?_  
  
Garak can sense Dax smiling in his peripheral vision. He readjusts the smal, neatly-packed bag on his shoulder and nods. Julian waves a small wave, abashed and endearing. His eyes meet Garak's and something about the look jolts Garak. Julian waves again as the airlock rolls shut, and Garak is alone among his people.    
  
_I’m sure we’ll see each other again._  
  
_I’d like to think so._  
  
Oh, he’d like nothing more.    
  
  
  
  



End file.
